The fires of Hell raged, bringing forth imps and demons to torture anyone who earned a place here. These included the usually suspected crowd: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Benito Mussolini, Jim Jones, Kim Jong Il, Osama Bin Laden, Saddam Hussein, Muammar al-Gaddafi, Cardinal Bernard Law, Charles Manson, and so on. A few no names were included in the lot, like the abusive father or the pedophile from next door in a neighborhood mostly occupied by Mormons or Catholics. But there was one person who was here simply because she did nothing but cause the people around her misery, anger, and controversy: her name was Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way. At least, that was what she called herself. No one knew what her real name was, nor did they understand why the apostrophe had to be in the word "Darkness," let alone specifically placed between the "K" and "N." Every time that question was asked of her, she would respond either by yelling or giving them a rather rude gesture.
A part of being in Hell was experiencing one's worst fear or moment in life over and over again. Each person had their own: death, loss of a loved one, disfigurement. There was no shortage of items for this type of torture. For Ebony, it was finding herself in a bright pink polo shirt with a seagull on it, a denim miniskirt that looked destroyed, and leggings with a little moose at the bottom. At her shoulder was a pretty bag with an eagle on it that said "Live Your Life" on every part. Prep clothing: a big no-no in Ebony's book. She repeatedly took off the polo only to find another one of the same kind underneath. This was what she had been going through for thousands of years.
"I fuking hate prep clothing!" she screamed.
Ebony always considered herself Gothic (or, as she often pronounced it "goffick"), and therefore detested and despised what she viewed as "prep clothing," or clothes worn by people who didn't partake in the Gothic lifestyle. It was also her belief that she was a vampire, and all vampires had to wear the same type of Gothic clothing. But she was in Hell now, and this was what she had to suffer for all eternity. Her, and her ever-growing pile of pink polo shirts.
Back on Earth, the citizens of Los Angeles, California ran away from a battle, seeking protection from the onslaught. But they knew they wouldn't be safe for very long. Yes, they encountered worse: earthquakes, Proposition 8, the 2016 election, but this was unlike anything they've before witnessed.
The two titans stood before each other in a Mexican standoff, both trained their Desert Eagles on each other. The first odd thing about these titans was they didn't resemble the ones normally found in Greek mythology, unless the Greeks hid something so the Romans couldn't steal it. Instead, they resembled a dog and a cat. Their bodies, however, resembled a man's…more specifically, body-builders.
"It's over, Garfield!" announced the dog. He was covered in yellow fur, and his ears were long and brown. His eyes looked like they either had a plan or no plan at all.
"No, Odie," said the cat named Garfield, coolly, "It's over when you're singing to the fat lady with bullets in your body." Garfield was an orange tabby who usually had a laid-back look in his eyes. Now, they scowled at the assailant. He also had an odd habit of giving the fist pump with his right arm every time he said the word "with." No one understood why. He never explained it, and never would.
"You wanna shoot me?" teased Odie, "I'd like to see you try. You're not man enough to shoot me."
This was a way for Odie to get under Garfield's skin, and they both knew it. Still, it didn't stop the giant tabby from following through on a threat.
"Want to be betting?" asked Garfield. He pulled the trigger on his Desert Eagle, and a bullet tore into Odie's chest. The dog fell to the ground in pain. Clutching his chest, Odie felt an extreme heat. It wasn't his flowing blood or the smolder of the bullet. He brought his hand to his eye-line and found a mixture of his blood and tomato sauce, remnants of noodle sheets, ricotta cheese, and beef bits. He knew instantly what it was, and more than Garfield's idiosyncratic speech, it annoyed him.
"Lasagna bullets?!" exclaimed Odie painfully and irritably, "Really? What the fuck is your obsession with lasagna?" It had gotten on his nerves for quite sometime now that Garfield had a love bordering on obsession with lasagna. He included it in everything, including the flavor of a personal brand of cigarettes he removed from his pocket. He pulled one out of the pack, placed it between his lips, and lit it with the flame burning out of the barrel of the Desert Eagle.
"It is truly greatest thing in world," said Garfield, taking a long drag and blowing it out, "next, of course, to sexy ladies."
He placed the Desert Eagle into his holster, and held out his fist, thumb raised to the sky. A spaceship appeared out of thin air and a beam shot out of its underside, hitting the ground. A hole opened under Odie, and before he could respond, he fell screaming to the center of the Earth.
"Very good," said Garfield, nodding his head approvingly. He held his fist up to the sky again. The beam narrowed, and the hole closed. But a figure leapt out just before closer was complete. Garfield had his hand on his Desert Eagle, ready to draw. But this wasn't his nemesis.
The figure stood up, and brushed herself off. She was dressed in a pink polo and a destroyed denim miniskirt. Her hair was black and reached her mid-back. The ends were red. She looked up at Garfield, who was shocked.
"Is dis Hogwarts?" asked Ebony.